The Blue Butterfly effect
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: Castles interpretation of an unfinished journal leaves Beckett wanting more. Contains mild spoilers from noir promo and pictures.
1. Chapter 1

To 4evercaskett for another bunny. To diane for the title. To my deep seated need of feb 6th. Forgive me, sometimes my imagination gets a little carried away.

Disclaimer: i own nothing and no one.

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><p>She had her chin in her hand, resting on the edge of her desk, eyes avidly darting as they watched him.<p>

They roamed from the crystal blue orbs of his downcast eyes scanning the words before him, to his long fingers as they travelled across the ancient pages of the long forgotten book. He took tender care of the pages as he turned them, precious stories of someone else's life and he cherished them as if they were his own.

His lips were moving rapidly as he read the words from the journal. He absorbed the actual story as he read it, word for word as it was written, before weaving it into his own tale, images concocted from the scribbled ramblings of long ago and she was utterly lost in it.

He was making it all very dramatic, and it was playing in her head like a movie. Love and sacrifice and the undeniable attraction of two people from a time of dames and dolls and, apparently, _private dicks_.

She smiled, her curled fingertips covering it up just enough that when he raised his eyes from the story he didn't see it clearly and couldn't get distracted. The corners of her lips quirking up again as she played him and he carried on.

He fell back into his tale with such ease and simplicity, it was a beautiful thing to watch, clearly made for the craft he perfected, clearly loving it as he sat and played with the words.

And such words!

They were coming to life for her, she could see it all in her head, the magic of the writer man dancing before her, his voice her guide through the tale.

The way he wrote did this to her often enough, when she was at home curled in bed or buried under a mountain of bubbles in the tub, his echoing voice as she read gave her pictures and images that she tagged along to the story, but hearing him read the words aloud, in person, it was so much _more_.

It set off a burning heat in her stomach, an ache she didn't understand, or maybe one she understood all too well.

The frenzied smouldering and clench of muscle that told her one day this man was going to read to her in bed, and she would do dirty, naughty things to him, afterwards, maybe at the same time.

She felt the heated blush wash across her cheeks and checked to make sure he was unaware. Satisfied, he was as lost as she had been seconds before, she sunk back into her chair and let his voice wash over her again.

He was weaving the story around her so vividly he had somehow painted her into it.

She imagined herself, hair waving loosely and shining in the way it only could in black and white films. She had a drink in her hand, long gloves covering her arms as she stood bored and alone in some dive of an old timey nightclub, cheesy and ridiculously popular, packed with the hustle and bustle of people having a good time.

She saw herself turn, eyes lift slowly to the bar and Castle would be standing there.

Of _course_ it was him she imagined, who else could fill the role? There was no one else she would ever want to picture waiting for her.

Oh, and he seriously suited the era.

She pictured him with his hat slung low on his forehead, darkly mysterious with an air of superiority. His trench-coat flung back with his hands in his pockets, cocky grin and…

"Their eyes met across the crowded bar and he wondered where she had been all his life."

She looked up, it was like he was reading her mind. The norm, yes, but still shocking, like being caught checking out his backside, or…wait checking out his backside where did that come from?

She shook her head, cleared the thought from her mind, and listened as he carried on talking, weaving wonder in every word.

"But they were doomed…"

She rolled her eyes, he turned just in time to catch the last rotation of her pupils, watched her scrunch her face in disappointment.

Of course there had to be a tragedy, a horror, a scandal, it was him after all, some dastardly deed committed that forced her into his arms, drew danger into both of their lives and threatened to tear them apart. Well not them _them_, the fictional them…wait…the _other_ fictional them.

Ok now she was just confusing herself.

"Doomed?" She asked, raising her eyes to his, betraying her feelings more than she meant to.

He read the lack of hope that tugged at her voice, saw the twinge of regret that washed over her face, and he couldn't leave it there, had to do all in his power to remove it.

"They thought they were," he adapted, the greatest love stories, after all, were not always the ones that ended in tragedy, in fact love, as far as he was concerned should have a happy ending, it should be magical "they fought hard because they believed their love was worth it, in the end."

"Because they were doomed?" She asked confused now, getting annoyed at him for plonking his feet right in the middle of her imaginings and disturbing the imagery.

"Shh…" he glared at her as he resumed his story. He picked the journal back up, folded the crunchy brown-edged pages tenderly through his fingers until he found his place again, his eyes flitted back to hers to make sure he had her undivided attention before he proceeded, he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her.

She tilted her head forward, looking up at him from under her lashes, he thought if she wore glasses she would be staring at him over the top of them like a school teacher, like he'd been bad…

"Castle!" She said loudly nodding her head "Today." She pointed at the book.

He looked down at it stupidly before muttering "mm'kay" and cleared his throat.

"Their eyes met across the crowded bar and he wondered where she had been all his life." he stopped then lifting his head and looking at her, finding her eyes closed as she listened, he smiled and quickly carried on. "Sadly she belonged to another, a mobster with goons that roamed the city and did his bidding."

He could see her out of the corner of his eye, saw her smile, a small quirk of her lips, her eyes opening and her gaze flashing to Ryan and Esposito, he couldn't help it, he laughed.

"Definitely goons." He smiled as she scrunched her nose again, caught out in her little game, she smiled back at him and nodded.

She scooted closer, her knees brushing his where they slipped past the edge of her desk, so she could peer over the curled pages with him.

He angled his body in response to accommodate hers, moving his elbow onto the desk so she could fit into his side and he could turn the book towards her.

He offered her the leather cover, let it dangle between them, her choice if she took what he offered and drew herself closer. Like it always was, he put himself out there and waited for her to take the answering step towards him.

She looked up at him for a split second before gently taking the book in her hand, trying to hold it as reverently as he did.

She felt his fingers flex under the binding and one of them ran along the edge of her hand, it sent a warm jolt to her stomach again as he touched her.

She kept very still and didn't speak, letting his finger wander lazily over her skin.

The last time he had touched her like this he had bolted and back tracked the minute she said his name, she hadn't wanted him to do that then, she didn't want it now, so she stayed quiet.

He inadvertently laced three of their fingers together as he pulled the old diary more into his line of sight and he started to read again, silently to himself.

She let him do it for a while, watching again as his eyes lit up and he smiled. That wasn't fair, she scanned the page with her eyes, the writing was awful, she couldn't read it and she sighed expecting a reaction, when she didn't get one she poked him.

"You planning on sharing with the class?"

"Read it yourself." He replied smiling as he turned the journal back to her.

"I cant read that," she stated lifting the book with their joined hands for emphasis "the writing is atrocious."

"You cant read that?" He asked laughing and nodding down at the book.

She looked again trying to decipher the words. She twisted her head to one side, scrunched her eyes together and got nothing. She shook her head "No it's awful I cant read anything." She glanced at him and caught him smirking "Why is that funny?"

"It looks like your handwriting."

"It does not!" She looked again, the slight flick of the **g** and twist to the top of the **s** were similar but that was all.

"Yes it does," he said pointing "look how they join up the letters here." He pointed to a word in the middle of the page that looked vaguely like butterfly.

What the hell did this have to do with butterflies?

"The double **t**'s are exactly like yours and here," he pointed to another word "see the curve of the **b** and the **e**" he said pulling her free hand into his, he used his finger like a pen in the palm of her hand as he traced the word he was reading.

"Blue," she said quietly as she felt the word glide over her skin, little shivers of electricity flowing from the tips of his fingers into her hand.

She glanced down quickly almost expecting to see the word burned into her palm, a glowing neon tinge to the word that had them damn near holding hands in the middle of the precinct.

"The **u** flows into the **e** but its written fast," he said looking up, slowly, reluctantly, releasing her hand, "makes it harder to read," she nodded in agreement as his eyes found hers "you do that!"

He dropped her gaze suddenly, unable to hold contact with her as she absorbed the meaning behind those words. He was that desperately, madly, in love with her he memorised her handwriting, knew every in and out like a crazy stalker, maybe he _was_ her crazy stalker.

She stared at the page in front of her for a long time before looking up at him and groaning, a noise of frustration but also of acceptance. He had such an affinity with words, it was astounding to witness. She nodded again, she did write like this, she let him have it.

He smiled freely again, her acceptance easing his mind, she kept letting him win, little triumphs she would normally steal away but lately…it was new, it was _weird_ but very enjoyable.

She tipped her head from side to side not quite nodding or disagreeing just acknowledging, then she opened her eyes wider, flashed them at him, a spark of impatience.

"Oh right, reading aloud." He grinned at her before he turned back to the journal "Oh wow." His mouth opening as he observed the story she couldn't.

She slipped her hand silently between them, resting it over his thigh and pinched him "Ok you're doing it on purpose now. You don't have to drag it out Castle I'm already dangling on the line." She smiled widely "I'm hooked Ok? I wana know what happens. So read the damn journal."

He looked at her puzzled before he proceeded "Ok they…wait _hooked_?"

"Shut up and read." She said still grinning at him.

He turned away still feeling confused, he let his eyes drop back to the book and he pretended to read as he contemplated the infuriating mess that was Kate Beckett. The woman was a mystery, a constant source of bafflement, sometimes so closed off and defensive, sometimes wide open and eager to play.

And then lately…something more. Something he wasn't able to pin down and analyse.

She cleared her throat, patience seeped away to nothing, her fingers poised to pinch him again so he blurted out "Clandestine meetings in the bar."

"What?" she leant over his lap staring at the journal as if that would make it any easy to understand.

"That's all that's written."

"Clandestine meetings in the bar? That's not much detail, how do you get any information from that?" She scoffed in the general direction of the words, seeming to take personal offence at their inability to provide escapism.

"No detail," he admitted "I may have been…err adding it in."

He waited for her to say something negative about what he had done, something about corrupting evidence, spinning wild theories. He waited for her to sound angry, or contradict his approach. He didn't expect her to curl further into his side and sound engrossed.

"Well do that again then." She said moving closer, any closer and she might as well be sitting in his lap, if she wanted to she could rest her head on his shoulder.

Did she want to?

She lifted her head to look up at him, her hair tumbling in a wavy swirl as she moved, it fell over his shoulder and engulfed him in the aroma undeniably her. The shock and the intensity of it made him suck in a shallow breath, inhaling more of her as he was instantly transported, the images came to him so quickly, his un-failing muse providing inspiration as ever.

He wasn't even looking at the journal this time when he started to speak.

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><p>She was standing across the room, with her hair twisted, curled loosely to one side. Draped in fur and surrounded by shifty looking men, she stood apart from the rest, an air of detachment, aloofness, mystery, surrounding her.<p>

She was pretty, he gave her that, a certain something indefinable, but it wasn't until she turned, fur stole slipping from her shoulders as she raised her glass in a toast, and their eyes connected, locked, that he realised how truly breathtaking she was.

They stared at each other for a moment, her forehead crinkling as she caught sight of the stranger across the bar, his lips moving into a steady grin as he looked her up and down.

He perused her body, with a cheeky look of appreciation before he glanced back to her face, refusing to drop eye contact until she gave in and flashed him an answering smile, a sly wink of her own.

A man appeared at her side, burly and unattractive, he watched as she rolled her eyes at something the man said before dropping her drink to the table and her hands to her hips. He shook his head leaning into her closely, his finger wagging in her face before he reached for her arm and roughly pulled her away, as she went she turned and looked over her shoulder.

Their eyes caught again, burning, searing contact across the room, some pitiful sense of dignity flashed across her face, she didn't like him seeing her like that, which was silly when they didn't even know each other, but there was already something there.

She had the innate sense that no matter what, he would do _anything_ for her.

He saw her startle in the other mans grasp, and unable to stop himself he pushed away from the bar and started to stride towards her. She held up her palm in a silent plea to stop, let her handle it, another smile, this time one of gratitude, crossed her face.

She was being yanked backwards then but she fought so hard the man stopped dead, staring at her in shock.

She pushed his hands away with a shallow laugh, but he caught hold of her wrist yanking hard, tearing the soft white material of her gloves. She let out another hollow laugh and said something.

It was loud in the nightclub and he only managed to catch the tale end of a word that sounded like '_over_' they had words, a heated discussion…he was about to cross the bar and step in, punch the guy in the face for manhandling her when she reached out her hand and slapped him, hard and loud, across the face.

A sense of pride rushed through him at her boldness, her determination of will. It was ridiculous, he didn't even know this woman, and yet...

The noise dropped away to shocked silence as the people all around him stopped their chatter, knives and forks poised above plates, glasses raised half way to lips. They all stared, some open mouthed, some trying to be subtle, at the woman holding her head high, walking away without looking back.

The man behind her still clutched his hand to his face, glowering with rage and humiliation as he watched her go.

Then she was in front of him, and, though she was holding it together for the sake of the prying eyes around them, he could see the tremor forcing its way through her body. Her hand darted to his arm, fingers squeezing the muscle above his elbow.

"Get me out of here please." She whispered, the words barely there but enough to stir him into action, her eyes lifting under heavy lashes to meet his gaze as his hand slipped down and clasped hers. They turned, leaving a trail of shocked faces behind them.

They strode fast, hearing the voice of the man, the mobster, the slap-ee as he yelled across the room "I'll see you dead before I see you with someone else."


	2. Chapter 2

"What happens next?"

Her voice, soft and intimate, floats gently past his ear and he realises he's been sitting quietly for longer than he should have.

"You're picturing yourself in this story aren't you." Kate said quietly.

He turned to her again as the picture slipped away "So were _you_." He pointed out.

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at him, before she shut it with an audible snap and scrunched her face in admittance of guilt, she mumbled something quietly her cheeks going pink.

He leant closer cupping a hand to his ear as he smiled "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that!"

"It was _my_ club, The Blue Butterfly…it was mine." She admitted raising her voice.

"Oh really?" He laughed loudly as her cheeks flushed again. She had cast herself as the femme fatale, the mobsters moll, gorgeous, deadly and alluring.

"So who am I in _your_ version of this fantasy?" he asked smiling "I'm not another goon am I?"

"You first," she challenged "who did you see me as in your head? Some scantily clad dancing girl? Cocktail waitress?" She teased him, adding in another poke to his leg for good measure.

When he sat silently, too quiet for him, she felt a sudden flash of hurt pride "I was in it wasn't I?"

"I'm just trying to remember if anyone else was," he said dreamily "my head is full of you in that red dress."

"Red dress?" She questioned, annoyed with herself as he totally sucked her into his fantasy, but not really caring because she wanted to hear, wanted to see what he saw.

"Mmmm…sleeveless, very tight," he smiled at the image of her flitting through his mind "long through the leg, little flare just here." He waved his hand in the direction of her calf "Your hair was down, so beautiful, and it was doing this twisty thing," his hand moved to his own head and he mimed a tumbled movement of his wrist against one side of his face, down past his neck to his shoulder.

She laughed, he was so good with details, the imagery, but 'twisty-thing' was no way to be describing someones hair, let alone hers, she'd have to give him a few pointers for future reference.

"I wasn't wearing a snood was I." She asked, watching his face contort and fighting another laugh as he shook his head vigorously.

"No, no _snood_," he made a face of disgust "your hair was down, and free, it was this mass of auburn mixed through with colours of the Fall, reds and golds and when it caught in the light it shimmered and I wanted to…" he swallowed quickly and tried to cover up his mistake "HE...he wanted to run his fingers through it."

She watched him with amusement, something bordering on delight, as his cheeks pinked up and she realised he was flustered.

"Getting a little too into it were you Castle?"

Pretending to ignore her he carried on with his fantasy, 40's Beckett was hot!

"Sucked into my own imagination by those bright red lips you had, perfect for kissi…" he stopped dead and smiled at her.

Her eyes were wide, staring at him with her lips pursed, she rubbed the thin line of her top lip across the bottom one as she tried to suppress the words that wanted to bubble out, maybe the action itself.

He wanted to kiss her, she knew that, what she wasn't prepared for was how much she wanted to kiss him back. How it came at her in a rushing swoop.

Here and now, well then and there, but he was implying both versions of him wanted to kiss her.

She opened her mouth, not entirely sure what was about to come out, but he spoke over her, drowning out whatever came next as his eyes were back on the diary.

"So how did you see me Beckett? Was I a butch bouncer?" He lifted the book clean out of her hands and pulled it up to his face, inspecting it in minute detail as he looked for more clues, he didn't see the smile that she was fighting next to him. "Hunky bartender? Piano playing stud?"

She snickered "Stud? You wish!"

"Hey," he said glancing up, "I made you hot in my head, the least you could do is return the favour, reciprocate…so, who was I? Cloak room attendant? Hey I know, I was playing the triangle with band." He grinned before looking back down at the book.

She shook her head slowly, clearly debating whether or not to be honest "No you were more the intrepid P.I who wouldnt leave things alone."

"You cast me as the Dick?" His mock show of indignation cracked through her embarrassment and she laughed, head tipping back as the surprised little bark of amusement escaped her.

She _really_ wanted to say it, it was the perfect response, the '_always_' sitting evilly on the tip of her tongue, innuendo, tease, and truth all folded into the word but she fought it, stayed the urge and nodded.

"If the fedora fits…" she laughed again. "What's his name anyway?"

"Whose name?"

"The PI Castle!" She whacked him across the leg, hard, drawing his attention back to the here and now "Mr. Dick himself." she grinned at him "What's his name?"

He dropped her hand, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment when he realised they were no longer touching, as he pulled the journal up to his face.

"I cant…" he shook his head "I cant make it out."

"Make one up writer, use your brain."

"Err…Joe?" Yeah, what brain? He blurted out the first name that appeared in his head, for some reason he had been thinking about Joe Torre, that silly grin, that beautiful spark of enthusiasm that had overtaken Kate when she met him.

"Joe?"

"Yes Joe." He stated more firmly. The single raised eyebrow she threw at him suddenly made him feel defiant.

"Seriously? All the names in the world and you pick Joe?"

"What's wrong with Joe?"

"It's so…"

"So what?"

"Nothing!"

"We're not naming our kids here Kate we're picking the name for a fictional character I'm pretending to be." Oops, maybe he shouldn't have sounded so excited about pretending to be her fictional other half.

She laughed "You're pretending to b…wait…what? Kids?"

Ok never mind, he thought, she hadn't even heard it. He then winced a little as he realised what he had said, but then he shrugged openly at her, giving in to the truth of it.

She _would_ be a nightmare to name kids with, to name _anything_ with, they would bicker and argue every point, he let out an unsteady breath, he wanted that, the daily taunting and teasing, wanted it _all_, so much.

Oh, and private investigator, he hadn't thought of that, he looked at her again with admiration, nodding his approval, yeah P.I, that was _cool_, and a possible Halloween costume idea, now, if he could just get her into one of the dresses he had been picturing in his head, wow!

"What's her name?" Kate asked suddenly.

She drew him back from his weird little daydream and, seeing the way she was looking at him, her eyes shiny and fingers squeezing each other tight, he was pretty sure she guessed where his mind had gone.

"Whose name?"

"Her, the…_me_ in your imagination. What would you call me?" She tipped her head to one side in anticipation.

"Oh, so many things Detective!" He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned "I have this one fantasy where I call you…"

"CASTLE!" She barked. "Focus!" Her fingers tapped the book again.

He took a deep breath, sat back and looked her up and down, taking in the essence of someone, their personality and mannerisms tended to help him find the name of the character he was basing on them.

Nikki with her kicking k's for kick-ass Kate the super Detective and Heat, well, that was pretty obvious.

He let his eyes linger over her body, taking longer than necessary across her chest and legs. He waited until he saw her foot start tapping before he drew his eyes higher, to her face.

"Like what you see?" She growled at him "Take a picture it will last longer."

"Hey, if you insist" He struggled with his jacket as he searched for his phone, but he stopped dead when he felt her fingers close over his forearm.

"Rick," she said quietly, watching him nearly give himself whip lash as he snapped his head backwards, the sound of his name on her lips stopping everything dead as he stared at her.

"Violet," he said suddenly, giving in to the question she left unsaid. His eyes roving her face, finding the dark smudges under her own, wondering how it was they didn't detract from her beauty.

The purple shadows she hid so well told the story of a woman who approached her job with an un-failing dedication.

He clenched his fist tight, knuckles smarting painfully and turning white as he fought the urge to run his thumb along the shallow tired line under her eye. His hands ached to soothe the bruise like smudge into nothing.

He needed to snap himself out of it and he saw her shake her head, not liking his choice.

That seemed to get his brain working, after all, his mind had given life to hundreds of characters, naming this one should be simple enough…except he was stuck on V's for some reason.

"Veronica, oooh Vivica? Vivian? No wait, I have it, the perfect name…Vixen!"

"That's not a name."

"Yuhuh, just the one name, Vixen the _fox_ who owns The Blue Butterfly."

"Just _one_ name?" She scrunched her nose, ignorning the 'fox' comment and twisting her lips in disgust "Are you channelling your inner 80's musician?"

"Bodelier"

"What?"

"Vixen Bodelier," he laughed, she did not look at all impressed with this suggestion, well if she put him on the spot she would have to deal with the consequences. "I don't know, you wanted names those are the first ones that came to me."

She shook her head, "You can work on that later."

"You never like the names I pick!" he said pouting.

She laughed at the pathetic look on his face "Can you really blame me?"

"What is wrong with Nikki Heat, seriously?" He asked, the age old argument cropping up yet again.

"It's still a stripper name," she shrugged "it will _always_ be a stripper name."

"Admit it though, its grown on you." He smiled winking at her before turning back to the book in his lap, beckoning her closer to the journal, back to the story.

She sat un-moving for a few seconds longer, taking in the eagerness of his face as he waited for her, wanting to pull her back into the story with him.

He was very sweet, amazing actually, as he made space for her next to him.

And he was right of course, the name had grown on her, just a little bit. It was actually kind of clever, all the ways it could be woven into titles, but she wasn't going to tell him and give him the satisfaction. It was just another of the many secrets she kept buried away.

The name had grown on her, much in the way he had, slowly over time, until suddenly whoosh it was in your face and you were in love with your partner and best friend and fighting with everything you had, to be able to one day, sit him down, hold his hand and blurt out 'I love you too.'

One day, but for now, she looked at him, twitching in the chair, eyes darting from her to the journal, like a hyperactive puppy, she laughed gently watching him, for now this was enough.

She couldn't keep all the secrets forever, much like the journal laying safely in his lap, eventually truth would out, and thinking more about him than Nikki Heat, she let this one slip free "You're right," she said, "it has grown on me."

He turned back then, the tone of her voice far too gentle for the conversation they had been having. She was closer than he expected and moving back he found their faces inches apart, her chuckling breath gusting across his face, the sweet scent of her mixed with the coffee she had been drinking earlier, it shouldn't smell good, shouldn't make him lean closer but, as new visions flooded his head, it did.

How did she do that?

Her presence conjuring magic from thin air, placing things almost fully formed into his head.

His eyes lost focus, a dreamy dazed look washing over him, as the story from the journal reared to life.

He started to speak rapidly as the words over took him.

"They fled arm in arm from the club and out into the night..."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: i own nothing and no one! thank you if youre reading along with me and i apologise for the insanity that is my imagination at the moment.

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><p>They fled, arm in arm, from the club and out into the night, they didn't run, she owned the place she refused to leave it anymore humiliated than she already felt. They didn't run, but they moved fast.<p>

Her fur stole lay discarded on the floor near the bar, she yanked the gloves from her hands, ruined under Macks heavy handed grip, she ripped them from her arms, dragging her nails across her skin as she threw them down onto the carpet in frustration, stomping over them as they finally reached the door.

She felt every eye in the room on her still, burning into her skin. Macks words echoing around the room, shaming her as she nearly stumbled into the stranger at her side. He didn't flinch as she crashed into him, his step didn't falter as his strong arms wrapped around her, held her.

He didn't try to swoop on her like she was some swooning damsel in distress, didn't try to lift her and carry her like he was the hero. He caught her mid trip, his large hands spreading the circumference of her waist, and set her back on her feet, before he marched with her.

He didn't make her feel weak, he gave her strength.

Damn Mack and his insane jealousy, damn him and his stake in her club, she hated the hold he had over her, that tie that kept her trapped to him.

She had been stupid to ever involve herself with him in the first place, stupider not to get out once she knew who he was and naive to have ever accepted money from him in the first place.

But slapping him, involving a stranger in this insane drama, she must have lost her mind.

The warm hand in her own squeezed, pulling her out of her own head, and she looked up.

Oh, blue eyes.

The steady, un-faltering gaze of the stranger before her, the one holding her hand and pulling her to safety, took her by surprise again.

She felt her whole body jerk, an electric jolt to her system as she realised she had just dragged this…she looked him up and down…ruggedly handsome man into her nightmare life.

She realised she was staring at him when she felt his fingers squeeze hers again. His eyes blazed, intensity and passion and…worry, he nodded towards the door.

She had forgotten the bouncer.

He waited at the door, bald head and all muscle, wearing a suit that looked too small and a menacing scowl. A scar ran from the corner of his left eye, down his cheek and stopped at the edge of his mouth.

She had seen him pick up grown men with one hand and launch them into the night like they weighed no more than a bag of sugar. Now they approached him.

"Trouble?" He questioned, his fingers moving in hers, again pulling her from the fog of her own head and into the here and now. His voice another surprise, a slight twang of something different, heated and interesting, that brushed past her ears, and swirled through her mind, it made her feel warm and heady. It gave her confidence.

She shrugged at his question, she hoped not, but with Macks people you never could tell, they changed at the drop of hat.

The little Irish one scared her the most, he looked so...placid, but she had seen him pulverize a guy twice his size over some joke about potatoes.

She gripped his hand harder as the images washed over her, squeezing until she felt her fingers go numb, desperately fighting her heeled feet as they tried to stumble again.

They reached the door and the bouncer rose to his feet, he looked her up and down in recognition before he grunted at her in confusion.

He stepped in front of them, making himself a barrier, a very large, meaty, violent looking barrier, between them and the door.

"Bastard." He growled.

They both flinched, this was going to end badly. Her eyes darted rapidly, her heart racing as the bouncer repeated the curse.

He shrugged his jacket off, stepping closer and rolling up his sleeves.

The man next to her tensed, she looked up at him, her saviour, her sudden protector and she watched his whole body coil in preparation, every muscle poised for confrontation. He was huge and clearly able to handle himself, but she didn't like his chances against the brute stalking towards them.

He dropped her hand, his arm stretching across her body to gather her behind him, he pulled her side-ways and back out of the line of fire, out of harms way and the threat of violence.

Then he stepped forwards.

She heard the "No" escape her mouth, not sure where it came from, but the pitiful sound of it shocked her and she understood, she couldn't let anything happen to him, especially not whilst protecting her.

She cared for him, in some weird un-knowable way, he was already too important.

The word broke like a sob, a heart wrenching plea as she curled her fingers into his arm and pulled him back, she didn't know his name, she didn't know why he was here, or how one flick of his brilliant blue eyes could have her humming from head to toe, but she knew she couldn't stand to watch him get hurt, she wouldn't survive if anything happened to him.

Both men turned to look at her, one face un-moved by the sound of her anguish, one thoroughly shocked by it.

She felt the hand close over her own, gentling her fear, and she lifted her head. She met the tender eyes of one who understood and comprehended all too well the insanity of what she was feeling. He was feeling it too.

Their eyes held, catching and locking, igniting flames of desire through her stomach. Words and danger meaning nothing as she fell through time, through life and landed in liquid pools of sparkly blue.

As ridiculous as it sounded she felt safe, a fleeting moment of hope given life as their eyes found each other. The fear dissipated, shared with another, with him, it lessened.

The bouncer stepped towards them, dragging them from each others gaze, the fingers over her hand tensed again, as an arm shot out in front of them.

"Here," he held out his jacket, startling them both with the unexpected kindness of the gesture "My mother brought me up right, and you never lay your hands on a lady!"

She felt the arm around her waist loosen its grip, the tension from his body drain away into nothing, he dropped his hold on her, letting her step around him and take possession of the coat.

She hadn't realised she was even shivering until the soft black silk slid down over her arms and she snuggled into the warmth it offered.

She caught hold of the bouncers hand, squeezed her 'thank you' and was about to speak when he shook his head and looked over her shoulder.

"Get out of here, while you still can."

She turned, still holding tight to his hand as she followed the bouncers gaze.

Mack was standing, pointing to his face, his arms flailing wildly as he gestured to the two men in front of him, one tall and Latino, his hands fisted and rolling his shoulders, the other, oh god…the little Irish guy.

As if they knew they were being watched all three men turned towards them, heads snapping up in unison, eyes dark and deadly.

She needed to move.

"Thank you." she barked as she dropped the bouncers hand, reaching instead for the strangers, she buried her hand in his, laced their fingers together and yanked him hard "Move." She barked the command with authority and determination, watching his head turn to see what had her panicking.

He caught on fast following her lead as they sped past the bouncer, through the door and out into the street.

Standing on the sidewalk, the hustle and bustle of night time New York blurred her vision and her ability to think.

Her eyes darted back and forth manically as she tried to decide which way held salvation, pulling him to the right unsure of her decision before she moved back to the left wondering if pulling them this way would lead to certain doom.

He took the decision from her, snagged her hard and fast around the waist and pulled her into the nearest alley.

It wasn't far enough away for her liking but at least they were moving, through the darkened narrow space at the back of her club.

"Why?" she asked as he continued to pull her.

"My car," he said "I can get us…"

But it was too late the door to the back of her club flew open a few feet ahead of them, the small round light above it rattling dangerously as the men, the goons, Macks lackies crashed through it, barrelling out into the night.

He moved faster than she thought possible. His hands still holding her tight as he spun her on the spot, dragging her deep into the shadows.

He hushed her as a squeak of surprise escaped her, curling her into him and crushing her body between his and the cold wall of the dark alley.

She was panting loudly, chest heaving against his as they listened to the men scour the street. Footsteps echoing on the cobbles as they yelled back and forth to each other.

Her breathing was accelerating, speeding up beyond her control and looking up at him she realised it had less to do with their impending discovery than it should.

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and she unconsciously licked them, tasting her own lipstick as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down on it hard trying to break the spell.

She felt his hand, large and warm, fingers spread wide across the small of her back. He used the position, the angle of his body to pull her hips further into the cradle of his, she gasped, thrilled by the sensation of being pressed so securely, so intimately, against this strange man.

Once he was sure she wouldn't move he raised his hand, dragging it slowly around her waist before pressing it against the wall behind her head, using it for leverage as he leant into her.

The other hand, the one burning his touch through her dress as it rested on her hip, moved then.

It climbed the side of her body, his thumb gliding smoothly over her stomach, pressing gently, at her soft skin through the red silk. He nudged the jacket aside, his hand trailing higher, tickling over her ribs making her moan, she bit the noise back as much as she could, but some soft echo of it escaped her lips and she scrunched her eyes in annoyance at her body's response, watching as he smiled, pleased with himself.

There were men roaming the street not feet from where they stood, violent men who could catch them at any second. She should care, she should be quiet and worry that they would be found. She should but she didn't because his hands were trailing her body and he needed to be put firmly in his place.

Her witty put down died on her tongue though as his thumb swooped under her breast, skirting the edge through the flimsy material of her dress.

Her head snapped back, eyes finding his in the darkened alleyway, the world and the danger falling away as she got lost in the sensation of being in his arms.

His hand slipped around her neck, soft touches to the warm skin of her jugular and its thudding pulse before he let his fingers settle in her hair.

"Shhh…" he whispered into her ear, as he leant forwards again, his lips brushing softly against her cheek as he whispered the command for silence again. "Shhh, they're leaving."

If he was trying to calm her, he was doing a pathetically poor job because now her body was on fire for his touch.

Her uselessly dangling hands darted up between them clutching tightly, one at his jaw slipping to wrap around his neck, one over his chest holding fast to his jacket, her ragged breathing should be embarrassing, but she didn't care.

She pulled him close, needing to kiss him, needing to feel the brush of his lips against hers just once before they were wrenched apart. Just once before she ran.

Her eyes beckoned him forwards seductively, pulling him deeper under her spell, her hands were less subtle as she yanked him with all her might, smiling as they closed in on each other.

There was a resounding crash behind them, a clatter bang and boom that broke them apart, he spun again to stand protectively over her, his body her shield as they stared out into the alley.

She peered over his shoulder, trying to see what was coming for them, trying to prepare for the worst.

She felt then, the rumble deep in his chest as he started to laugh. His head tipping back as the sound resonated around her.

Unable to resist she lifted her hand, her fingers finding his ear as she pinched him hard.

"Shut up." She hissed finally able to step away from the wall, leaning around him as he rubbed at his ear. "They'll hear you. Are you trying to get us killed?"

He laughed again rubbing his ear harder, "Damn woman, you have a death grip."

She narrowed her eyes at him, watching as the blazing look she gave him made him quiet and almost step away due to its intensity.

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded her voice still low, but the tone would brook no insolence. Her hands fell to her hips as she stared him down.

He turned then, reaching for her hand and pulling her to his side "Look," he pointed.

A scraggy looking ginger cat sat a few feet away, the toppled trash cans scattered around evidence of the noise that had disturbed them.

"They've gone." He said stepping further out into the alley.

She let go of his hand and stepped away, the cool evening air and the loud crash of cans having dragged her back to her senses "We should leave."

He nodded, a teasing grin breaking across his face as he raised his eyebrow "You read my mind." He laughed stepping closer again.

"Separately." she replied, but she smiled back unable to resist.

"You could come with me," he suggested hopefully "we could escape into the night like star crossed lovers?"

"Very poetic," she smirked "but its safer for you if I go alone.

"We'd be good together." He winked, still trying to convince her, his voice dark and inviting "I just have this feeling we would."

She grinned, tilting her head to one side as she considered, almost giving in, she drew her lip back into her mouth, biting the edge to give herself a reality check.

She shrugged free of the bouncers coat, throwing it and making him catch it before she leant into his chest and whispered in a voice as deeply mystifying and seductive as his own had been "Oh you have no idea."

She lingered for a split second before she pushed him away, hard, so he stumbled back looking gob-smacked, and she laughed turning on her heel.

He stood transfixed watching her walk down the alley, her shoulders bare in the cool chill of the night air and her hips swaying invitingly, he watched, but he couldn't let her walk out of his life.

"Hey doll?" he called making her stop, she made the decision then, as if there had ever been a choice to make, and turned on the spot.

"Doll?" She questioned raising her eyebrows at him, smirking all the while.

"Yeah," he said defensively as he continued to smile at her, "what else should I call you? I don't even know your name."

She closed the distance between them, a few dividing steps that meant nothing before she reached him.

Her hands at his lapels she raised herself a tiny amount and pressed her blazing red lips to his cheek in a silent 'thank you' before leaning back, her grip didn't loosen, but her gaze dropped to his chest.

"And I don't know yours," she raised her eyes again, quick and searing into his own "does it matter?"

She let him go, lifted her hand to tap on the rim of his hat as she smiled and made to step back.

"Yes it matters." He growled, as he reached for her waist, grabbing her tight, one hand gentle at the edge of her jaw. He pulled her face up to his, gaining a better angle for him to kiss her teasing mouth, but before his lips crashed over hers he spoke again

"I want to know whose name to whisper in the dark when I make love to you.


	4. Chapter 4

To 4evercaskett again for the original idea, to gloria for the playlist of music i shall never get through in time and as always to diane who spends hours upon hours every night listening to me hash out details, teasing her with spoilery tid-bits before dragging them away...smoochies and hugs for you...thank you if you reviewed or alerted or messaged me anywhere. :)

oh and to alwayscastle...who yelled 'KATE' at me loud enough that it sunk in!

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><p>"<em>I want to know whose name to whisper in the dark when I make love to you.<em>_"_

"Kate."

Yeah, that's what she wanted, her name on his lips in the dark. In the light of her bedroom, or his, in the precinct, hell anywhere.

It was definitely what she wanted, all he described in his story, with his dark and dangerous words, his rich enticing voice.

He thought she was a tease, but damn she had nothing on him and his stories.

She leant back further in her chair, her eyes still closed as she let his sexy, lingering, melodical voice wash over her again. With her eyes shut tight like this she could swear she actually heard him calling her.

"Kate?"

She may as well be spread across his bed right now, with her hair down and her arms open wide for him, the way he called her name echoed in her head and made every element of his story seem like a vivid possibility, a memory of something she hadn't even done yet.

He spoke, calling her name with such emphasis and need, like he wanted something, like he had a question he needed to ask her.

And she wanted to give him an answer.

_Any_ answer, so long as he would hold her in his arms and love her, the way he loved her in the story. She gave up all pretence it wasn't them he was talking about, because she knew the truth. It was pretty damn obvious who it was.

She wanted the story he spun for them and she hated herself for knowing she was the reason they couldn't have it. Yet.

She bit back the bubbling frustration because it wasn't _just_ the story, the love and the romance she wanted.

It was the passion.

She wanted the heated, hot rush of his breath in her ear, his fingers tangling in her hair and attacking the buttons of her shirt in a frenzy of desire.

She wanted that sudden spark, the one that he spun his story around, the one they shared but never spoke about. She needed it, required it, it was like he had awoken something inside her, some hunters instinct that made her aware of the thudding pulse and the desperate need to seek out his touch.

She wanted him to pick her up, wrap her legs around his waist and pin her to the wall of an alley, yes, she wanted to roll him over in bed and…

"Hey BECKETT! Earth to the mighty Detective… come in Detective!"

She looked up suddenly, starting in her chair, jumping forwards and almost falling onto the floor, it was only the fact they had been sitting so close together and he had thrown his arm across her lap that saved her.

She turned then, his warm arm still laying across her leg, and looked up into his face. She was confronted by his merry, dancing eyes, an eyebrow quirked above and a massive grin of understanding.

Oh he could tell exactly what she had been thinking.

"I knew I was good but, damn Beckett! Where the hell did you go?"

She flushed bright red, pushing his arm off of her legs as she jumped up from her chair, the backs of her thighs colliding with the seat sending it backwards hard, she heard the crash and felt it rebound as it ricocheted off her desk.

She turned away from him, unable to deal with his prying eyes, his knowing smile, she strode across the precinct running her fingers through her hair, hating the way he made her feel flustered, loving it too, but he was infuriating.

"Beckett?" He called confused. She heard him stand, knew he wanted to follow her.

When she didn't stop he tried again, she heard his feet moving as he skipped to catch up with her

"Hey Kate?"

"Coffee Castle." She called over her shoulder without turning, she couldn't meet his eyes just yet, just…not yet.

She tugged at the loose curls around her face, yanked them up and out of her way as she remembered him describing the couple in the alley. It wasn't fair they could act with such abandon, such freedom of conscience and she was…

She slammed the cup under the steamer of the coffee machine and waited her foot tapping angrily on the floor. She ran her hand over her eyes pressing hard, trying to rub away some of the annoyance.

The way he spoke about the couples connection in the story, the way he had held her in the alley, she could have sworn she felt his fingers on her waist.

When the couple in the journal had ignored all signs of danger and gotten lost in each other, when they had been pinned against the wall, when his hands had started to roam her body to calm her down, she could have sworn she felt _every_ touch.

He had a writers imagination, sure, it was amazing, it was brilliant and explosive and he spun the stories, but she, she was a _reader_, and he should know by now, you don't mess with the imagination of an avid reader.

If anyone could create their own world and spin off from the words they were given, it was someone who spent their life getting lost in the pages of books for escapism, it was her.

The minute he started describing the touches between the pair in his tale she could feel every movement, every warm lingering look, every breath of air against heated skin.

After all she had something to build her imaginings on.

She had their undercover kiss as reference for his lips against her skin, for the tingling hot breath against the soft expanse of her cheek.

She could close her eyes and feel his fingers sliding through her hair, gliding over her scalp as he pulled her in close. She could feel the thumb across her jaw, gently skirting her ear, as he chanced his luck, took the risk and guided her towards him.

She knew the moan from the story all too well, because it was hers, she thought she had hidden it, that it had slipped past him in the heat of the moment, clearly not. It was vivid and real and he recalled it in detail and used it against her.

She hit a button on the coffee machine realising she had been standing staring at it for far too long, no coffee had magically appeared, and time was ticking away.

Hitting the machine with more force than was honestly necessary, groaning as her hand collided with it before stepping back and wrapping her arms around her elbows, pulling herself in tight.

She brought one hand up to her mouth, touching her lips in remembrance.

She was an idiot.

She had gotten so lost in the story because she had the memory of his touch all too clearly burned into her mind.

She had the whispered confession of love dancing around her head like it was stuck on repeat on the worlds cruellest play list.

She picked up the still empty coffee cup from the stand, giving up all pretence of attempting to make herself the life preserver of a drink.

Tapping the side of the cup with her finger nail she leant against the counter top and meandered her way back through his story.

She had the closeness of his arms wrapped around her in a freezer, the tender touches to her face, brushing aside her hair when he thought she was dying.

She had his body under her, over her, wrapped together when he was handcuffed to her in a bed, and all the times he had hugged her when they survived anything, everything.

She had the memories to mix with the fantasy and it made it so easy to put herself in the story. She had every single one of them, and it wasn't enough.

And it really pissed her off he had stopped dead where he had, just because she had apparently gone a bit glassy eyed listening to him.

Listening to him was the problem, his voice was too inviting, if she had been reading she wouldn't have gotten so…involved.

She knew it wasn't true of course, she got so easily lost in all his words, spoken, written even the random text messages she would receive, so listening to him wasn't really the problem.

Actually, listening to him was a…pretty big turn on and she started to wonder if there was some way of getting a recording of him reading to take home. She smiled as she thought about bugging her desk to capture his voice, how much he would get off on knowing she had formed this weird spy-like plan in her head.

Maybe she could just convince him to voice audio books she could listen to in bed until she had the real thing snuggled next to her, reading, talking, touching and teasing, fanta….

"Hey Beckett." He said quietly, appearing from nowhere, she caught her body's instinctive reflex, forcing aside the need to jump, somehow managing to still the movement as she turned and looked at him.

This time she kept her face placid and relaxed, fought to give nothing away, other than the empty coffee cup she held in her hand. He reached for it, pulling it gently from her fingers and setting it to one side before replacing it with a proper cup, a giant, decent sized 'Beckett special' cup of coffee.

She couldn't help it, she smiled, at the damn cup of coffee, at him bringing it because she'd flipped out, she smiled.

"You ok?" His voice, that annoyingly addictive voice, was soft, and concerned, confused as he asked. Watching her all the while.

She nodded, because it was true, she did actually feel better now. She lifted the cup, tipping it towards him in a sign of appreciation before she walked to the break room table and sat down a little too heavily.

"Did I…overstep?" He asked confused as he followed her "I mean, you've read my stuff, I _know_ you have," he leant forward and whispered conspiratorially "I've written worse!"

She chuckled, agreeing with another small nod before she said "No you didn't over step it was just…" she scrunched her nose before she let out a laugh "Why the hell did you stop there? Talk about leave me hanging."

"Ohh!" He said, his eyes getting steadily wider open, his eyebrows sliding towards his hairline, as he looked at her closely "You wanted _more_ sex? Ok detective that's…_good_ to know." He smiled as he walked the distance of the small room and joined her at the table, pulling out the chair opposite her.

He mumbled something under his breath as he sat down, something that sounded suspiciously like 'insatiable' and she glared at him.

"That is _not_ what I meant and you know it." She rolled her eyes, pointed at him menacingly before dropping her hands to take a long swig of her coffee, hoping that by doing so she could hide that fact that, yes, that was kind of what she had meant.

"What _did_ you mean?" He challenged, his head tipping forward in eagerness.

"I wanted to know what happened next." She shrugged as if it should have been obvious.

"You want me to carry on?" He raised his eyebrows with a sly grin as he leant closer to her, his arms folded across the table, he watched her cheeks pink up "From exactly where we left off?"

"Yes." she gulped around the word, squeezing the cup.

"You want to know all the…ins and outs?"

She bit her tongue, not quite deliberately, and took in the heated gaze and the steady rising of his lashes as he blinked at her with expectation.

Oh he wanted to play.

She set the cup down and leant forward a little, her elbows resting on the table before she spoke, pronouncing each word deliberately

"Every. Single. One of them."

Her eyes narrowed and burned into his, she saw him swallow, he fought it well, that sudden shock at her response, the thrill of the chase, but he was as bad as her in this little game they played, just as competitive as she was, and he couldn't back down now.

"What if it gets steamy?"

She licked her lips, twisting them to one side "I can handle steamy."

"What if it gets dirty?"

"Then I'll just have to take a nice long, hot shower to feel clean, lots of bubbles to wash it all away."

"What if it gets rough?

She slammed her hands down hard on the table watching him jump, she grinned, standing so she could lean forwards, closing the distance between them to breath into his face as she said "Hit me with your best shot Castle, I bet I've already done it."

He lifted his eyes innocently, before he too stood, staring her down "Not with me you haven't."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: i own nothing and no-one...but 1 week to go! eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

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><p>"<em>I want to know whose name to whisper in the dark when I make love to you.<em>_"_

He didn't give her a chance to respond, to tell him her name or question his statement. They were past all that, in the short space of time in which they had been thrown together, they were past it all, and destined for so much more.

He had to kiss her, no thought no waiting, just a leap into something amazing, something thrilling and worthwhile. He tilted his head as he moved in, angling his hat away from her face until he found the perfect position to swoop in on her heavenly face.

She felt the soft brush of his lips against her own become eager and demanding as they pressed together, the sweep of his tongue breaking the dividing line of her mouth as he sought entry. He pulled gently on her bottom lip, tugging it free with his own before he moved in to devastate her senses.

His mouth colliding with hers as another indecent sob was dragged from her lips.

This man was going to be the death of her.

Everything around them shrunk into insignificance as she kissed him, or rather he kissed her. His mouth working tirelessly in unison with his hands and every single touch was on the verge of bringing her to her knees.

A hand moved to press at the small of her back, tugging her closer, the other held fast to her face, cupping it in an overload of sensation, as his thumb dragged across her cheek leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Her hands hung limply between them as he battered down her defences and poured molten lava into the kiss, letting it trickle through her veins to pool in the pit of her stomach.

He kissed her, with slow melting swirls of his tongue, against her lips, in heated rhythm and with tenderness she had never known before.

A first kiss beyond anything she could ever understand.

Her heart was racing, the pounding of her blood echoing in her ears and her lungs were burning with a sudden desperate need for air. Stupid life giving oxygen that she didn't want, she ignored the burning, her lips straining as they continued to seek his.

He drew back slowly, smiling as she groaned and tipped forwards following his kiss. Both of them panting heavily, watching the gusts of hot air turn to mist and float off into the cold New York night.

She clung to his shoulders then, hands finally responding to her lust addled brain and moving to grip tight to his arms.

She didn't want to look up at him, knowing exactly what she would find waiting for her, she knew him, somehow, so well already, but she had to, had to look up and test her theory. Sure enough that cocky look of superiority was burning across his face again, so pleased with himself and the effect of his kiss.

He wasn't getting away with it.

She waited, watching him until she had his full attention, then she let her eyes close, one beat of her eyelashes as they slid shut and another as they opened, slowly, so slowly, drawing him in, the soft smile of determination, of evil glee spread across her face.

Oh it was her turn.

She fell on him.

Her mouth opened wide as she drew him in, taught him a lesson he would never forget, if his kiss could melt her bones then her kiss would set him on fire.

She seemed to turn him on the spot, sent him spinning as her hands left his shoulders and slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, she moaned softly deliberately into his mouth, letting the gentle noise reverberate over his tongue as her foot snaked around his calf and pulled his body flush with hers.

She wrapped herself in him as best she could whilst being upright, but the positioning and the rocking motion of her body left very little to the imagination.

He couldn't get enough of her, with her hair tumbling across her shoulder, catching in the breeze, the soft smell of her perfume as it lingered just out of reach, her arms around his neck as he pulled her close. He wanted more, he wanted it all, he wanted her for all eternity and…

There were sirens off in the distance, voices near by, and he suddenly realised how thoughtless they were being, how stupid.

As much as it pained him to separate, he allowed one last burning sweep of her tongue against his before he pushed her away.

He couldn't let her go far though, his dread of her walking into the night and out of his life reared its ugly head even then.

His hand squeezed hard at her waist, clinging to her as the other stayed wrapped in her hair, his eyes begging her to understand.

It wasn't a rejection, it was a plea.

She nodded slowly, her head tipping into the warmth of his hand as she looked away to gather her breath back "I know, we are complete fools."

"Fools in love." He stated lifting her chin.

Their eyes held, open wide and acknowledging the complete craziness of the situation.

"Yes," she agreed quietly before she laughed "Love at first sight." She flashed him a quirky smile, showing she was teasing.

"Damn straight Doll face." He grinned at her widely, lacing their fingers together as he tugged her hand in agreement, no teasing needed, just truth.

She laughed as he pulled her, with sudden unexpected humour, out of the darkness of the night and into the happiness of being in the arms of the one you loved.

It didn't last long, not nearly long enough as reality started to set in.

He watched her, saw something come to life behind her eyes and a decision get made in the blink of an eye that he didn't like, her face changed, her smile fell away and was replaced with a look of steely determination.

"Come with me." He said suddenly, something primal and entirely too needy for his liking broke through the words, he was desperate to get her away from here.

She shook her head. "I have to go home."

He gripped her tight "Are you insane they know where you live."

She nodded "And if I go home alone I can pass this off as a female fit of temper," she said the words with hatred "Mack is rather fond of those."

She watched his eyes fall, his shoulders slump and she squeezed his hand again stepping forward to lay her open hand over his heart as she drew his eyes to hers.

"If I go home with you, they will come looking, they'll know we are together and then I wont ever be able to come back."

She stepped away from him then, needing to break the contact if she was going to be strong and walk away.

"This is my home," she gestured to her club, the neon lights of The Blue Butterfly flashing behind her. "This is my job and my life, I don't know who I am without it."

He stepped back into her line of sight, reaching for her as she continued to back away.

"You'd be the person I…the person I love."

She shook her head "You don't even know me. You think you do, but you don't." She stepped back again. "Love or not you know nothing about me or my life."

"I know you are the type of person to stand and fight." He grabbed her arm and spun her back towards him. "I know you are the type of person who will walk back into danger for the sake of pride, that you will put your life in the hands of men who want to kill you for no other reason than that they can, or because you stand in their way."

"And if I don't they come after _you_." She smiled sadly "Where is the justice?"

"Who needs justice?" he asked pulling her tight to him "I have you?" he kissed her again softly, lip to lip light and tender before pulling back. "I have this." He said running his hand along her bare shoulder and down her arm until he found her hand.

He laced their fingers together, lifting her hand and resting it over his heart, he lay his own over her chest, his thumb tracing the line of her collar bone.

They stood in the alleyway, connected by the thudding beat of two hearts, joined by a new love that was given life on the darkest of nights.

Two racing, shifting hearts that seemed to call out for the eager embrace of their other half…

"We have this," he said with fierce determination and conviction "we have each other."

They stood connected, eyes holding, hands touching as everything around them fell away.

"They will hurt you if they find us together." She whispered her voice breaking through the eerie quiet that had surrounded them.

There was less anger in her now, less concern. She was petrified yes, but she loved him, honestly she did, and if love wasn't worth a little sacrifice and a lot of danger then what was?

"It's a good thing I'm sneaky then isn't it?" He smiled at her pulling her hand from his chest to lips, placing a warm kiss to the fleshy centre of her palm, feeling her tense and her eyes dart to his as he lathed it with his tongue.

Refusing to let her pull it away, keeping her there until she shuddered, gave in with a sigh and leant into the wall of his chest, her head resting in the exact spot her hand had been in only seconds before.

"I'm still not telling you my name" she said as she pulled free of his arms smiling again, some of the tension easing.

"That's ok. I'm a private investigator it's my job to track you down."

"A P.I really?" She looked at him with admiration "I figured you for a cop."

He smiled widely tipping his hat "I'll be whoever you want me to be doll."

She smirked, rolling her eyes at him before she turned and walked away, more assured now he would let her go, for tonight at least.

As she reached the end of the alley she heard the call of his voice echo along its narrow walls.

"I _will_ be back for you tomorrow."

She turned again, smiling over her shoulder as she called back "You'd better be."

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><p>He watched her go, against every instinct he had, he watched her walk the length of the alleyway, turn with a flick of her hair and look at him over her shoulder. She smiled softly, before turning again and striding out of sight.<p>

He wasn't aware of the passage of time as he stood in the alley watching her leave. He had no concept of exactly how long after she left he was still standing there, staring at the space she had inhabited as if he could make her reappear just by wishing it.

When the darkness of night was taken over by the oddly eerie half light of dawn he forced his feet to move.

He found his car, drove himself home, unlocked his door and settled himself, all in an expanse of time that meant nothing because his head was filled with her.

He paced, wearying the floorboards with his incessant and repeated footsteps.

The most glorious, angel of a woman had entered his life less than 3 hours ago and he was head over heels in love with her.

The dark silken mass of her hair contrasting with the creamy beauty of her skin.

Her expressive and mesmerising eyes, green and brown mixing in some exotic combination he had never seen before, he could stare into her eyes for the rest of his life. He planned to.

She was feisty and uninhibited, a force to be reckoned with and he couldn't wait to get to know more about her, learn every minute detail he could get his hands on. Peel away the layers and find out what lay beneath.

If he ever saw her again.

Because right now she was out in the night alone, and he had stood stupidly mute in the middle of the street and watched her go.

There was no logic in this plan, no semblance of sense. He had let her sweet talk him into madness and wander off into danger by herself, like some damned martyr, all to protect him.

He paced the floor throwing his hat onto a nearby table, he dropped down heavily into the chair by his desk and poured himself a stiff drink.

He had hours until he could see her again, until he could steal past the bouncer on the door of her club and chance a few stolen moments with her.

He refused to believe she wouldn't be there, he had to hold on to hope, had to keep faith in her and her ability to calm the raging beast that was Mack Malone.

He pulled out note pads and journals, deciding that work was the best way to distract himself, he had cases in progress and notes to write up, and tonight's surveillance mission needed to be documented.

But as he sat down and pulled a fresh pad from the drawer of his large wooden desk, all he could see was her, her with no name and the teasing smile.

He opened the pad, pressed the pen to the page and sat staring at it, the case would have to wait.

He cast aside the cheap notebook and instead rummaged through his drawer for his leather bound journal, folding the pages back until he came to a blank one.

The most important elements of his life entered this book, the things that changed him, things he wanted to remember forever.

He put pen to paper, writing fast, his investigators mind detailing everything in quick scrabbles. He knew his writing was atrocious but if _he_ could read it that was all that mattered, well _that_ and documenting everything about her, all that had happened tonight, every single feeling she evoked was going to be written down.

This would keep her close in his mind and his heart and, like an invocation as he wrote, his words of love would keep her safe.

He started at the beginning, his pen moving quickly across the blank white page.

_**Our eyes met across the crowded bar and I wondered where she had been all my life**_


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: i own nothing and no one but i do have a question...how many times is too many times to watch two 30second promos for a tv show? eeep!

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><p>The night had dragged, it had been horrendously slow and painful, but the day was a million times worse. The hours until he saw her again ticked by torturously unhurried, taking their time to meander past until he was nearly out of his mind with anxious worry and nervous energy.<p>

The fact he hadn't slept at all did nothing to help alleviate his angst.

He eventually gave up all pretence of working and waiting and, an hour earlier than he had intended, he made his way to her club, in sheer desperation to see her, hear her voice and hold her close.

Screw the consequences, he wanted to be with her now!

...

The bouncer eyed him with a mixture of apprehension and pity as he stepped through the door. Shaking his head sadly as he muttered "You're both crazy, I hope its worth it."

He stopped dead, clutching tight at the mans muscular arm his words giving him sudden flaring hope, she must be here. She must have left word that he was coming.

"It is, _she_ is." He said with conviction as he let out a pathetically jubilant sounding laugh, the large man shaking his hand in time with his head, but there was a soft (if it was possible to call anything about this man soft) smile playing on his lips.

"Someone's waiting at the bar to take you through the back," he said, "be quick about it, Mack will be here in less than hour, he has eyes everywhere."

He walked slowly, with a grateful nod, away from the bouncer heading towards the bar area. Every step was agony as he fought to keep a steady speed and not draw attention to himself.

He walked when he wanted to skip and race, to run as fast as possible to see her again.

He slowed every impulse until he drew level with the bar, his eyes darting madly, taking in the faces, looking for one he might recognise.

The stool ahead of him swivelled, the woman revealing herself with a showman's flourish, her white dress flaring around her as she tipped her head and smiled at him.

She was dark and exotic, her black hair twisted to one side and threaded through with white and pink flowers.

He recognised her instantly.

She was the headline act of The Blue Butterfly, notorious flirt, hard as nails and a force to be reckoned with.

She was also reportedly the closest friend of the owner, his mystery woman whose name still eluded him, and it made perfect sense that she would be the one waiting to meet him.

He made his way closer to her, as she beckoned with a small inclined tilt of her head, until he stood just to the side of her chair.

She hopped down from the stool, his eyes dropping to follow her and he realised she was tiny, her heeled feet lifted her to his shoulder height, but her personality, the character and poise that bubbled from her lifted her higher still.

She stepped in front of him then, blocking his path, her face bright and her smile wide, a clear deception for those around them, as she looked up at him and said in a dark dangerous voice. "You hurt her, I'll kill you."

He felt his mouth fall open in surprise, looking at her in shock until he laughed, he knew he shouldn't but the menacing voice from such a tiny woman, her deadly threat coupled with everything else that they were already facing, struck him as funny.

She took another step forwards, lifting her hand to reach up and grab hold of his collar, a tight grip that had him nearly choking as she pulled him down until they were eye to eye, almost yanking him off his feet.

"Lover boy, do I look like I am joking to you?"

"No Ma'am!" He shook his head in complete seriousness, his eyes wide and childlike as the woman before him smiled, a satisfied evil smile, before releasing his clothes and pushing backwards.

She ran her hands along his shoulders, laughing loudly for anyone who might be watching, before smoothing out the wrinkles she had put in his suit. She pressed slightly harder than was absolutely necessary for emphasis before she stepped backwards fully.

"Keep up. Don't make me smack you."

She brushed past him, and his heart started beating erratically again, she was so near, and any minute he would see her again.

He followed the singer in front of him, another woman whose name he didn't know, through a door just off to the side of the bar, they walked corridors that went on for miles and miles, or less dramatically and truthfully endless seconds because he knew he was getting closer.

It was like there was a magnetised pull in his chest that dragged him along, he wanted the other woman to run because they weren't going fast enough, he needed to see her.

He rounded the corner and realised they were standing at the back of the stage.

He made to speak but the tiny, terrifying woman stepped close, narrowing her eyes and smacking him firmly on the chest before she spoke "Wait here…do not move!"

He nodded as she turned on her heel and walked off out of sight.

He stood alone again, his heart still racing as he waited, impatience forgotten, replaced with eager longing and anticipation. He knew she was here, knew she was safe, now he just needed to calm the raging pulse within him by seeing her face to face.

The lights dimmed above him suddenly and everything went black. He spun on the spot expecting danger, expecting the worse before brilliant white lights shone through the black curtain that separated him from the front of the stage.

He covered his eyes as the harsh light took him by surprise and his ears were assailed with the whoops and cheers of a happy audience.

The silhouette of a woman was revealed across the dark expanse of jet black curtain, her hand on her hip as she spoke to the crowd, asked for quiet and when she didn't immediately receive it, she barked at them.

There was roaring laughter from the crowd, they knew her act of keeping them in line, playing along and loving every minute.

He smiled as he listened to her, watching her through the blacked out mesh of material. She played them all effortlessly, tease mixed with power and command, and he had no doubt whatsoever that she _would_ hurt him if she felt she had to.

She spoke to someone in the band, there was the loud blast of a trumpet and the comically timed 'Pahrump' of a trombone, more laughter echoed around him before the music started to play and the audience began to quieten down.

He saw the silhouetted figure move and stand at the edge of a large black mass he assumed was the piano. Her soft and tender voice filled the room as she started to sing.

I'll be loving you,

Always,

He stood with his head tilted letting the soft jazz melody of the music wash over him.

"Hey blue eyes."

With a love that's true,

Always.

Her voice was soft and tender as it floated across the narrow darkened space, and the minute he heard her he spun towards it.

Moving without even being conscious of making the decision he rushed at her, with no thought, just utter gut wrenching relief that she was alive and standing before him.

He watched her smile, a light laugh echo from her lips as he swooped in and without pausing he picked her up and spun her on the spot, his arms tight around her waist as he lifted her off her feet forcing her to fling her arms around his neck as she continued to laugh.

He dropped her back down to the floor, fisting his hand in her hair as he brought her face to his. He needed to look at her, take her in, drink in every ounce of her existence, so he held tight to her dress and let his fingers play in her hair, as he absorbed absolutely everything he could about her as if doing so would erase the night of pain and worry.

He felt his heart settle to a more naturally erratic rhythm, the one she caused by being close to him, and he watched as her laughter fell away, her smile softened, became tender and her hand slid up to skim his jaw.

"Miss me?" She whispered, her fingers moving across the stubble that evidenced the night of torment he had suffered, her thumb sliding higher to run along the darkened shadow under his eye "Honey?" her tone gentled by the comfort she laced through it.

His eyes closed under her caress, the warmth of her hand penetrating into his skin and he finally felt the angst and the worry leech away, soothed by the continued stroke of her thumb.

"Never again." He whispered quietly, his eyes opening to look at her again.

He pulled her closer as she stared back in confusion, his voice fierce as he closed in on her, his hot breath gusting over her lips as he spoke "I'm never leaving your side, never again."

Her other hand joined the first to wrap around his face as she blinked slowly, a knowing smile spread across her bright red lips as they drew closer.

An aching look of longing, of need, consumed them both, leaning in, noses brushing, lips hovering over each other, heaving panting breaths passing between the two, their bodies fitting together as they moved in for their cloak-and-dagger kiss. Sighing, their lips parted and they closed the distance…

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><p>They had moved closer together in the break room, after he had gathered the journal from her desk along with his own coffee and now he sat to the left of the head of the table, next to her.<p>

He hadn't gone into graphic sexual details of an illicit tryst as he had threatened he would, he had instead created an elaborate love story and picked her up and set her down in the middle of it.

She didn't know if he was aware that some of the dialogue was theirs, that some of the resonating feelings and fraught arguments behind things that made no sense belonged solely in the box labelled 'the deluded logic of Katherine Beckett'.

She suspected he did know, because he never once sought to blame the woman for walking away, when even she, knowing how closely the story applied to herself, was yelling inside her own head, 'turn around you stupid woman and kiss him.'

He must be aware on some level because even his vividly woven 40's fantasy alter ego bowed out with class and dignity to the wants and needs of his lady love.

She shook her head at those descriptions, those words as they danced around her head, his words leading her astray yet again, she had to focus out of nonsensical musings and back on him.

Back to Castles story.

They were face to face as he read the notes, scanning the pages as he carried on telling her the story. He was smiling as he read thoroughly engrossed even as he spoke.

He must be reading the words, picturing the story and then telling it to her, all within seconds of his mind absorbing the information.

He had a great mind, she knew that, but seeing it in action…it was captivating.

She leant forwards in the way she had earlier, lost in the movements of his lips and the sound of his voice as he continued the story, her chin resting once again in her hand.

Until suddenly he went silent.

She had no idea what he had been thinking, but he was clearly enjoying it. His eyes suddenly darting up to her face, but seeing something else entirely.

He sat in silence, gazing at her as if he could see into her soul, her mind, everything laid bare before him as he stared deeply at her, into her.

It was starting to become a little creepy and not just Castle creepy, _really_ creepy.

It was like he was in a coma or a trance, like he had lost the reality of the here and now.

Then just as suddenly, when she was on the verge of calling his name, or flicking him right between the eyes, he snapped out of it. He came back, eager again as he described to her what he could envisage for the _them_ he had been playing with in his mind.

"He would pull her close," Castle said quietly, his hand reaching of its own accord to brush the loose strands of hair behind her ear as he spoke.

She felt herself jump, a sharp jolt, as his hand skimmed her face out of nowhere. She opened her mouth to talk, to ask him what he was doing, but she couldn't find the words, every single one of them died on her tongue.

So she sat in silence with her mouth open, just a fraction, as his hand tenderly played with her hair.

His fingertips felt hot against her skin, or her skin felt hot and he felt hotter, it didn't matter, the point was, he was touching her and everything suddenly felt heated.

His words and his actions perfectly in sync with his story, he began to act out what he could see.

"He would place his hand gently on her face," he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, his fingers drawing along the narrow line of her cheekbone, "glide his fingers across the soft, warm skin of her cheeks," skirting the dark marks below her eyes as he had wanted to earlier. It came as a pleasant surprise when she didn't immediately pull away "pin her against the hard desk."

He made to move towards her.

"Stage." she corrected him, the word tumbling free before she had a chance to stop it, biting her stupid tongue as she brought him out of his spell and he jumped back. He yanked his hand away from her face like his fingers had been scalded.

"What?"

"Stage, he would pin her against the stage," she said giving him a resigned smile, trying to keep her voice from betraying any underlying disappointment "you said desk but…" she licked her lips and swallowed thickly as she continued "why would there be a desk backstage?"

He sat staring, he wasn't positive but he thought he saw a look of regret wash across her face when he had moved away.

He needed to test the theory and pull her back in.

He rapped his knuckles gently against the break room table, watching as her eyes followed his fingers before darting up to his face, then slowly, slowly, he flicked his eyes towards her desk, drawing her attention to it.

He watched the realisation take root, could see the exact moment she saw what he had seen, her mind now picturing the two of them sprawled across her desk and he had to fight back the laugh that wanted to escape as once again her cheeks flushed bright red.

This was shaping up to be an awesome day.

"Maybe it's a prop?" He said smoothly catching her eye and smirking, but giving her an out none the less.

"Maybe?" She agreed leaning in closer to him "buuuut…" she dragged the word out as she rested on his leg leaning over him again and tapping on the dusty page of the journal, "that kiss wouldn't work anyway."

"Kiss? He questioned looking down, following the sound of her tapping finger against the book. There was a kiss written in the journal one with the barest minimum of details, literally just the word 'kiss', clearly the writer of this journal was a man of few words. So he had made it up, the detail, the tenderness and feeling, too busy thinking about his delightful Detective.

It wasn't the word 'KISS' or the imagery conjured, however, that had stunned him into silence, it was the name of the song written next to it. The clear black 'ALWAYS' shining out from the past as he read the story.

He knew his future lay with her a long time before he had picked up this journal, but who was he to argue with signs from the universe that traversed the fields of time and space.

He was doing that dreamy, far off lost in thought thing with his eyes again and she lifted her hand quickly and tapped him on the head "Yeah the one you were imagining in here." She sat back and laughed letting him know she was on to him "It doesn't make sense."

"How do you know?" He asked staring at her "I never even got to describe it."

She shrugged "pressed into a stage," she smirked "or _desk_ doesn't sound very comfortable."

He stared at her open mouthed, she couldn't be serious "I don't know who you've been kissing Beckett but…err…clearly you've been missing out." He leant forwards in his chair again, moving closer "Sometimes it's not about comfort, it's about _passion_."

She rolled her eyes "Passion or not, it still doesn't sound comfortable or romantic."

"I could demonstrate for you, if you doubt my skill." He twisted around again in the chair, gently pulling the diary from her hands and laying it on the table.

"Your skill?"

"Yeah," he said holding out his hand "Dick me!"

Her head snapped up as she glared "Excuse me?"

He laughed loudly, her face contorting in shock as he did which only made him laugh harder "Private Investigator me, from the story, 'Joe the Dick' me. You doubt his…my….our…_whateve_r…there is skill doubting going on here." He pointed at her.

She rolled her eyes, muttering 'dick me' under her breath, rubbing her hand across her forehead in frustration.

The man was insane, he really was, and he genuinely needed to be committed somewhere, but she nodded in agreement, there was indeed _skill doubting _going on as he so eloquently put it.

Not so much his skill when it came to kissing her. No definitely not that, she knew within seconds of their lips colliding he would have her moaning and arching against him, he would pull sounds of desire from her and she would have to fight to control where her hands roamed.

No, the _kiss_ was most definitely not the issue. The doubt in her mind came from the location, the setting, the scene itself.

"Let me show you?" He asked standing up.

"What?" She jumped, he couldn't be serious.

"Yeah let him show you!" Ryan chimed in his voice joining the conversation from no where.

She spun in her chair and glared, her mouth falling open before she spoke "Where the hell did you come from?"

She took in the two Detectives leaning in the doorway, staring straight at Esposito who raised his eyebrows and smiled at her innocently, before he glared at Ryan and said sarcastically "Smooth."

Esposito then turned back to the other two "I agree with Beckett."

She smiled at him, she had to love him, he always had her back even when…

"But you gotta act it out because it makes no sense." He grinned at her then, giving up all pretence of innocence.

Oh he would pay for that.

"You were _listening_?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, launching into Beckett death stare mode.

Both men nodded looking unabashed and smiling widely.

"For how long?" she questioned, her eyes warming up nicely the longer they grinned at her, nearly ready to burn a hole right through the centre of both men.

Esposito stared her down, coughed the word 'Years' as Ryan spoke over him, trying to cover for his partner, saying "Long enough."

Her death stare fell away in surprise and she heard Castle cough splutter a laugh behind her. She resisted the urge to turn on him, barely, instead focusing on the men in front of her.

"I need to see it." Esposito said still smiling at her as she bit her tongue, sometimes he was worse than Lanie. That little, not so well hidden away, _shipper_ pushing them together.

"Yeah act it out." Ryan said his voice dreamy, eager and full of glee. "Make the story come _alive_."

All three stopped dead and turned to stare at him.

"What? I'm a romantic, deal with it."

Castle laughed again, nodding, and turned back to her where she sat, slightly red faced, at the table. He extended his hand, teasing her.

"Care to help me prove a point Detective? I think you've been dared."

She didn't need to look back at the boys to know she would find them nodding, didn't need to hear the words to register the challenge.

She stood slowly before she snagged his hand.

"Whatever you say DICK!"

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><p>the song is 'always' by frank sinatra (at least the version i listened to was) and i took it as i sign from the universe that i use this 'specific' song when three seperate people told me to go listen to it within the space of 5 minutes<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: i own nothing and no one. Again thanks to 4evercaskett for the original (alot smaller than it ended up being) story idea, and to diane (my unfailing muse) for everything else in between! if you have read, reviewed, alerted or messaged me in anyway thank you...and now...someone build me my time machine feb 6th here i come!

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><p>He felt her fingers wrap around his, warm, slender, and tight in her grip, as she raised herself up.<p>

She was smiling very widely, grinning at him in fact and it left him feeling confused.

"Whatever you say DICK!"

He jerked in surprise as she clutched at his hand, so shocked she had actually stood up that he didn't even register the comment or the snickers from behind him.

She was smirking again, teasing and light as she suddenly pulled free of his hand and dropped her own to her hips.

"Can we get this over with? _Before_ Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee have an apoplexy."

He followed her gaze to the two Detectives standing in the corner, Esposito was grinning from ear to ear and Ryan was practically vibrating in anticipation.

Then the reasoning behind his suggestion came flooding back to him, he was supposed to be proving the magic behind the forbidden embrace he had been imagining. He had a point to make, and he wanted Kate to believe, feel the intensity of the heated rendezvous.

So he shook off his shock, smiling and got down to business.

"We'll pretend the table is the…"

"Desk?" She asked smirking at him again, reminding him of his earlier slip up.

"Stage, lets go with _stage_ and I'm going to have to…err.. _move_ you so this may get a little awkward."

"More awkward than…?" She nodded over his shoulder ignoring the rest of his comment and he turned to take in the smiling buffoons behind him.

She rolled her eyes at the grinning Detectives who were enjoying the situation a little too much for her liking "Don't you two have work to do?"

"Nope."

"Not one single thing."

"Case has stalled."

"Nothing to do."

They both grinned at her ready for another challenge but she gave in.

"Ok lets get this over with."

"Oh _Thank_ _you_," he grimaced as she waved away his mock offence and gestured for him to continue "Ready? I'm going to have to position you."

She raised her eyebrows at him "Position me how."

"Well in the story she was just _going _with it and you being _you_, there's bound to be more resistance sooo I'm going to have to get you where I want you."

"Oh really?" She raised her eyebrows, challengingly.

"Yeah," he answered, then speaking quietly so the others wouldn't hear he mumbled "first time for everything."

She opened her mouth to speak but his hand moved just as she did, and her head snapped to follow it as it made its way to her waist.

"I'm going to have to touch you." he said grinning again.

She nodded slowly, words disappearing completely as she watched his hand approach, but his fingers didn't settle over her yet.

"Lean back into the table, it's not the right height but you get the idea."

"You want me to sit on the table?" she asked in confusion.

"Just lean back a little into it and open your legs."

"Excuse me." She opened her eyes wide her eyebrows shooting skyward at his suggestion.

"I feel like a voyeur." Ryan said from behind them, she leant around Castle again and stared at him.

"That's because you _are_ one."

"Shhh." Castle said quietly echoing the hushed plea from his story, and he instantly transported her to the world he had created. Vivid images of her pressed against the wall of an alley or a stage (or wherever the hell he wanted to press her) rushed in a dancing blur through her mind.

Reaching forwards, this time his hand did touch her, a firm press of fingers to the bone of her hip as he guided her back into the solid edge of the table.

He nudged her shoes apart with his foot, giving the heels a little tap to make her widen the space between them.

She drew in a deep shuddering breath, forgetting the other men in the room, as she moved her feet for him and he stepped into the gap, one leg between both of hers, crowding her space as he pressed her backwards.

"She would have had her hand here." He said touching the lapel of his jacket with his fingertips, as he recalled how the story had taken place in his head.

His free hand snagged her wrist and drew it up to his chest, twining her fingers with his own until they reached the material, then he pressed them over the edge and felt her grip tight to it.

Visions of bank heists and moments of terror eclipsed by heart breaking relief washed over her as she held firm to his jacket.

Memories bombarding her as she clung on in desperation, her heart pounded erratically, breathing shallow and stilted as she remembered how she had felt when she raced to find him in the settling rubble of the bank.

Her fingers ached as she gripped tight to the cloth, using him as her tether to the here and now.

There was warmth burning through the material of her jeans, the soft denim against her legs heating up rapidly surrounded by the strength and muscle of his own.

She felt him rock his hips forward, an un-intentional rotation of his pelvis as he moved closer, that caught against hers and pressed her further into the table.

She jumped again, a small gasp escaping her, forcing her to lift her head and, as she had so far managed to avoid, finally meet his eyes.

There was no mischief in them which surprised her, no tease or innuendo bubbling under the surface. Just pure molten heat as he stared at her.

She had fought the urge to look at him whilst he was this close, but now she had, she couldn't pull away, they were stuck as she watched the pupils of his eyes reacting to the light of the break room as he blinked.

His gaze never once deviated, even as he spoke and moved her again.

"Her other hand was here." He said, catching at her arm, making her remember she even had another one besides the one that was already touching him.

He lifted it high and drew it around his neck, pressing her palm gently to the skin between his hair line and collar.

She watched then as he broke eye contact, but only to close his eyes, her fingers moving of their own accord to trail the skin briefly before she got them under control and froze.

When she stilled her movement he opened his eyes again and blinked at her, somehow moving closer still. He dropped her hand and they stood, with her clinging to him, for a few seconds before she spoke.

Her voice a quiet, cracked, whisper as she asked "And him?"

"His hand would be here." Castle said immediately, encouraged as he moved, a soft rustle of material as his hand snaked to her hip, his thumb brushing over the arch of bone he could feel pressing through the edge of her shirt.

He let it linger before he moved it further and settled just above her right back pocket, with a little tug he pulled her against him.

Suddenly he was supporting more of her weight than she would have thought possible. The table at the edge of her back and her death grip on his shirt coupled with his hold on her hip meant she wasn't properly balanced, and she was forced to cling to him to stay upright.

"And here." He said quietly, moving fast.

She felt the shudder wrack her body as the tips of his fingers moved over her neck, his thumb skirting the thudding pulse in her jaw before they wound their way into her hair.

He pulled, tugging the strands with the lightest of pressure so that she would tip her head back, arch her neck and he could lean into her.

His lips ghosted over her jaw, his nose skimming lightly at her cheek before he whispered, the warm air of his breath tickling the words into her ear "Are they still watching?"

She froze at his question, not at all what she had been expecting, she lifted her eyes over his shoulder catching sight of both Ryan and Esposito, who, whilst both looking a bit embarrassed, hadn't turned away "Yeah."

She felt his lips settle over the skin in between her ear and her cheek, felt them lift and raise as he smiled against her. "Then lets give them something to talk about."

"What?" she swallowed most of the word as he startled her with a swift movement, dipping her further back.

"Just go with me on this." He whispered his lips brushing lightly against hers as he spoke before they closed over her mouth.

He didn't deepen the kiss, press to invade her lips or do anything other than lay his gently over her own, but it was enough to send his head spinning.

A 'stage kiss' his Mother called it. The settling of his lips next to and slightly over hers for the benefit of the audience.

He had to do it, so close and months of knowing that one day she might be ready for more, with him, he had tried to keep his distance, but with her in his arms, and a plausibly deniable excuse, he couldn't resist.

No, more than that, he didn't want to.

But he would give her an out if she needed one. It didn't _really_ count if they were _acting_.

What he wasn't prepared for was her reaction, how deeply she was effected by the words he had surrounded her with, how very much she wanted to be the girl in the story with freedom and the self assured ability to act as she chose, to kiss when she was in love.

When his lips descended on hers she gave up all pretence of being unaffected and threw herself into the kiss.

Her right hand already where she wanted it, where he had placed it, meant she could let her fingers glide, raking at his scalp as she trailed his hair. Soft and gentle wisps against her fingers as she imagined, as she remembered.

Her left hand served an even greater purpose, it held him firm, her white knuckled grip stopping him from retreating in gallant stupidity when he thought he should.

Her mouth opened eagerly before his lips met hers and she sucked his bottom lip between her own, rolling her tongue across it.

She knew he would gasp, maybe even give a girly squeal as she did, and open his mouth wide enough that she could ravage him with her kiss.

She felt his fingers tense against her hip in surprise, a split second of amazement and shock before he pulled her close and gave her what she wanted, the kiss from his story.

Their kiss.

His fingers already in her hair, his thumb sliding across her cheek in the way that made her bones disappear, poof alakazam, like magic.

Because it was magic.

Their own brand of made-up make believe that came to life in the meeting of their lips, the gentle greeting of tongues, the soft sigh and moan he loved already that reverberated between them.

He loved her, and she knew.

She loved him, and if he didn't know before, he couldn't doubt it now.

She trailed her fingers through his hair in repeated patterns and felt her foot lift from the floor and curl around his calf, she pulled him closer, wanted him to crowd her more into the table.

After several frantic seconds he felt her lips part under his again, only this time it was as she pulled away enough to speak, the side of her mouth brushing his.

"Err Castle" she panted "we have an audience." She said it quietly, when she finally regained enough control to remember they weren't alone in the room.

She was loathe to stop, but she had a deep, hungry, achy, excited feeling it was about to get very out of hand, not to mention embarrassing for those watching.

There would be consequences, ones she wasn't entirely ready to deal with yet, but she was getting closer, closer every day, and maybe taking small steps with him, small kissey kinds of steps, she would get there faster.

"Time to take our bow Beckett," he said quietly as he lifted away, answering her look of confusion by saying "acting it out remember."

He held her hand tightly, felt her foot leave his leg and plant itself firmly on the floor before he spun them to face the two men, so she could bob a curtsey and he could bow, but turning, they found themselves alone in the room.

"I wasn't acting Castle and where did they disappear to?" she asked.

He turned staring at her, waiting for her to laugh or shake him off, but she just held his gaze, blinking steadily as she waited for him to answer."I have…no idea, we must have scared them away with the…"

He stopped not really sure of how to continue as her teeth began to worry the edge of her lip. He didn't question her words, or try to make her explain them. He just let her statement linger as he held tight to her hand.

He didn't want her to withdraw or, in all honesty, start thinking, because she might pull back and retreat. She might run again, and he didn't want to have to _chase_ her, he just wanted to _hold_ her.

He tugged on her hand and gestured towards the journal "Are you sad it ends there? KISS ALWAYS and no real resolution?"

She shook her head, realising their fingers were still laced together, she looked down at them briefly before she used them to pull him to the table so they could sit back down. "Not really, we knew it was unfinished going in, part and parcel of this insane case and, who knows, as we investigate Stan's murder maybe we will find out exactly what happened to them."

He looked at her, smiling at the optimistic outlook she took on the case. It was a new approach for her, the darkness shifting away a lot more lately, a lot easier than he was used to seeing, it set free a truly beautiful woman underneath. One he had loved for longer than he realised, one he planned to love forever.

The woman who had just kissed him in the precinct and the one whose hand he now sat holding. "And if we don't?" He asked, his thumb brushing in light circles over her skin. "If we never learn the truth and the last thing we ever know about…"

"Dick?" she asked smiling.

"And the fox who owned The Blue Butterfly…"

"Castle" she gripped his hand tighter as she leaned forward across the table "if KISS ALWAYS is the last entry in the journal and the _very_ last thing we ever know about them I think it's a pretty good ending…"

"I sense a but coming." He grinned at her, fairly certain he knew what she was about to say.

"BUT…" She smiled at him again, "If you don't like it," she dropped his hand, raised her elbow to the table and rested her chin in her cupped fingers "you could always tell me a story."

He laughed as he watched her settle in and close her eyes in anticipation of his words.

Her belief in her writer man shining through as she waited for whatever tale he would spin, and whatever wonderful love story he would place her in the middle of.

Sure there would be danger, and intrigue and even possibly death, but in the end, they were the things that made love worthwhile, made it special.

They were the things that you overcame to make love last forever.

* * *

><p>His mouth settled over hers in a new yet familiar way as he finally kissed her, his fingers were still sliding through her hair, their mouths dancing in greeting, less than 24 hours apart felt like a lifetime and they poured how very <em>much<em> they had missed each other straight into that kiss.

He felt her shudder, her lashes fluttering erratically against his cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him devastate her mouth with kiss after intoxicating kiss, relishing every one, savouring each moment that they could be together, touch each other, hold on tight and show their love.

She breathed around him as best she could, but he totally invaded every aspect of her being, she fought it for a few seconds trying to hold her own until she gave in and let him enfold her in his love.

She let him tear down her defences, step inside and barricade them alone, together, away from the rest of the world.

He pulled back from her just enough that their faces rested against each other, cheek to cheek, as they sucked in every ragged, heaving, lungful of air, of each other. She sighed even as she panted and he dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

"Yes." He said quietly in the soft hair at the edge of her brow "I missed you."

He stepped away, watching the smile spread across her face and light her up from the inside, even more beautiful as she let her happiness run free.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before he reluctantly let go, letting it fall between them.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his journal.

He didn't know what made him bring it tonight, what made him feel he needed the journal close, pressed over his heart inside his jacket.

Maybe it was the fact that he spilled his love through the pages and he couldn't bear to be parted from them. Maybe it was just stupid superstition that by having the words close he would keep her safe.

But now he had her near he wanted her to see it, to understand that he was filling the pages with them. With love.

"What are you doing?" She asked confused, her brow furrowing.

He smiled at her, gleefully folding back the pages so she could watch as he wrote the date and the location. He stepped forwards, pulling her in, lifted her chin and kissed her again, tenderly and softly, just once against her lips.

When he moved away she was smiling at him and he made sure she continued to watch as he wrote in the book.

Two words that alone held no meaning, two words that out of context and to anyone but them would be a little side note jotted down.

The act and the song recorded forever in two words that would transport them back to this very location, two simple words

KISS, ALWAYS.

He felt her arm move, her hand reach and her long slender fingers run over the words on the page. She laced the book with a little of her own magic, he thought, as she touched at the words tenderly.

She pulled her hand back and he put the journal away, in the inside pocket of his jacket, listening as she sighed and stepped into him, her hand resting over where it now lay, hidden next to his heart.

She leant into him for support, for strength as her own drained away, emotion was bubbling up from inside and the power and the intensity of it were taking her by surprise.

He reached for her, drawing her in close and wrapping his arms around her, he brushed his hand gently over her hair, stroking away the enormity of what she was feeling and replacing it instead with simplicity, with the soft embrace of his arms and repetitive thump of his heart beat in her ear.

He opened his mouth to speak but she got there first.

"I'm fine." she whispered with a smile as he closed his mouth and grinned at her. She had read his mind and pre-empted his question, their connection gaining power with every second.

"Never again." She said softly echoing his early declaration, his eyes finding hers as she leant away from him, keeping her arms wrapped around his stomach as she smiled at him.

"Ahh see," he grinned, unable to resist giving her a cheeky wink "I knew you liked me."

"I love you," she said, her smile matching his tipping up onto her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips "and nothing is going to keep us apart ever again."

**THE END**


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